


instrumentality

by kidcomrade



Series: 3/5 sentence fanfics [7]
Category: No More Heroes (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, i like my incestual fake girlfriends like i like my travises, twenty times more fucked up and filled with issues than they're aware of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:58:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidcomrade/pseuds/kidcomrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeane is using him. That is all it is, all it ever has been, and all it ever will be. (A series of 3-sentence ficlets on Travis and Jeane's relationship.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	instrumentality

They work so well together that, on good days, she can even let herself be genuinely happy for a moment or two.

It’s awful. She wants to scream until her voice gives out.

  


***

  


In time, she catches onto the fact that Travis treats her like a goddamn porcelain doll; every time she snaps in rage, he crumbles, begs her, does whatever it takes to force a smile back onto her face-- it isn't what she wants, or what she needs, and she is again reminded that she is here to make him suffer.

He thinks he can 'fix' her-- he, a child infatuated with whatever lofty ideal he's collage-superimposed upon her face; she a pedestal, she the Holly Golightly, she the exit, she the crutch.

Jeane stops taking the pills that settle her and he never notices.

  


***

  


They really only have sex two, maybe three, times.

She doesn't let him stay over when it's done; she jerks her shoulder sharply away when he tries to rest a comforting hand on it and he wonders, always wonders, if he's done something wrong. She thinks he should leave, she says. There's no embrace. His arms have never wrapped about the knobs of her shoulders as she sleeps.

Her body, hard, compact, unforgiving, curls together in a tight ball beneath the thin white sheets.

  


***

  


She stumbles through his front door, bruises his mouth with her own, breaks his skin with her nails and laughs, fucks him and _laughs_ because it's all over.

~~~

Jeane, in black lace lingerie, steals out of his bedroom at three on a July morning; she strides, gleeful, manic, into the bedroom of Travis Touchdown's parents, flicking the lights on so she can _see_ them suffer; she grabs his mother by the arm first, yanks her from her slumber, twists the limb from the joint until it rip snap shatter _pops._

She doesn't kill the father-- her father. He can wait to suffer, just a little longer: after all, she's waited this long, hasn't she?

 

  


***

  


They put a blanket over Travis' shoulders: he's in shock, apparently, so says the nice policeman.

Of course he'd be in shock. Some burglar (her), some gutsy burglar (HER), too stubborn to let himself get caught had killed (mutilated completely torn limb from limb) the only witnesses to his crime. Home invasions (a lie) don't always end like this, but they do sometimes (they never do, it had been a lie, he cannot believe this, he must lie to himself, his brain quietly complies; yes, this is what we will believe).

He'll get over it soon-- these things happen all the time.


End file.
